but she could not forget it. She
recurred to Mrs Grey, again and again. "So near as they lived," she
said--"so much as they must be together."

"The nearer we all live, and the more we must be with our neighbours,"
said her husband, "the more important it is that we should allow each
other our own ways. You will soon find what it is to live in a village,
my love; and then you will not mind these little trifles."

"If they would meddle only with me," said Hester, "I should not mind. I
hope you do not think I should care so much for anything they could say
or do about me. If they only would let you alone--"

"That is the last thing we can expect," said Margaret. "Do they let any
public man alone? Dr Levitt, or Mr James?"

"Or the parish clerk?" added Mr Hope. "It was reported lately that
steps were to be taken to intimate to Owen, that it was a constant habit
of his to cough as he took his seat in the desk. I was told once
myself, that it was remarked throughout Deerbrook that I seemed to be
half whistling as I walked up the street in the mornings; and that it
was considered a practice too undignified for my profession."

Hester's colour rose again. Margaret laughed, and asked:

"What did you do?"

"I made my best bow, and thought no more about the matter, till events
brought it to mind again at this moment. So, Hester, suppose we think
no more of Mrs Grey's hints?" Seeing that her brow did not entirely
clear, he took his seat by her, saying:

"Supposing, love, that her letter does not show enough deference to my
important self to satisfy you, still it remains that we owe respect to
Mrs Grey. She is one of my oldest, and most hospitable, and faithful
friends here; and I need say nothing of her attachment to you. Cannot
we overlook in her one little error of judgment?"

"Oh, yes, certainly," said Hester, cheerfully. "Then I will say nothing
to her unless she asks; and then tell her, as lightly as I may, what
Margaret proposed just now. So be it."

And all was bright and smooth again--to all appearance. But this little
cloud did not pass away without leaving its gloom in more hearts than
one. As Margaret set down her lamp on her own writing-table, and sank
into the chair of whose ease she had bidden Maria make trial, she might
have decided, if she had happened at the moment to remember the
conversation, that the pleasure of solitude does depend much on the ease
of the thoughts. She sat long, wo